Sandy and Sally
by louicorn
Summary: Santana has to dogsit for Quinn while she's out of town. Brittany, a girl from Santana's neighborhood, happens to have a dog, too...
1. Chapter 1

"No."

"Please?"

"No, Quinn."

"C'mon, it's just a week."

"No."

"But he loves you, Santana."

"No."

"I'll pay you?" Quinn tried with a hopeful smile.

Santana scoffed. "I make five times more than you, Quinn. I don't need your money."

"Ugh, fine." Quinn frowned at Sandy, rubbing sadly at his ears. "Let's go, Sandy," she crooned. "Santana doesn't love us anymore."

Santana watched with disgust as Quinn talked to her dog like it was a baby or something. Who names their dog Sandy anyway? Especially their very male, very big Golden Retriever.

Quinn sent Santana a last disappointed look as she tugged on Sandy's leash and led him to the door of Santana's apartment. "We'll find you a place to stay, okay, Sandy? I'm just leaving for a week. You'll be okay," she reassured him. Quinn looked over her shoulder at Santana, no doubt waiting for Santana's pity.

But Santana held her ground. She crossed her arms defiantly as Quinn dragged her sloppy Golden Retriever out of Santana's apartment. At last, they made it out, though after a bit of a struggle—whether intended or not—and the door closed behind them.

Santana shook her head to herself, making her way over to her kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine. It was hard having Quinn as a best friend sometimes, what with all of her sudden business trips and dog problems. And Santana wasn't, like, a _bitch._ Okay, fine, maybe she was. But her apartment was just really clean and orderly, okay? The dog would totally mess everything up. Not to mention her shoes. Oh, God, she certainly couldn't have Sandy gnawing on all of her most treasured possessions.

Crap, she just called that dog by his dumb name. Ugh.

No more than two minutes after Santana got lost in her thoughts, her door opened again.

Quinn marched up to Santana with Sandy in tow. "Nicole," she said with a determined look on her face.

Santana frowned. "Quinn, what the—"

"I'll introduce you to Nicole if—"

"You told me Nicole had a boyfriend!" Santana gasped.

"Well, I lied." Quinn rolled her eyes and shrugged as if it were no big deal. "Whatever. Look, if you take Sandy in for a week while I'm away, I'll make sure to introduce you to Nicole once I get back."

"You are such a manipulative bitch," Santana said, narrowing her eyes.

"Why else are we friends?" Quinn replied smugly.

"You're right." Santana glanced down at Sandy. He didn't look so bad… Until a blob of drool landed on her carpet. Gross. But Nicole… Nicole, Quinn's untouchable "work best friend." Nicole, with her naturally tanned skin and that luscious head of chocolate brown hair. Nicole, with her Australian accent and those secretary glasses she wore sometimes… "Fuck it," Santana muttered.

Quinn's lips curled up into a devious smile. "Do we have a deal?"

"Yes, yes," Santana huffed. "You know hot women are my weakness."

Quinn shook her head. "Hot _unattainable_ women are your weakness," she corrected, "and, yes, I know that very well." Satisfied, Quinn bent down and pet Sandy lovingly. "Well, I have to go now, Sandy. I'll see you in a week. Have fun with Santana. I'm sure you two will get along just fine."

Santana rolled her eyes.

Quinn smirked at Santana one last time as she said, "Well, I better go pack my stuff and leave before Arthur kills me. I don't know why he needed me to make this trip with him on such short notice anyway."

"'Cause he's a horrible boss, Quinn," Santana said.

"Right." Quinn looked down at Sandy, smiling at his happy face, before heading for the door. "Take good care of him, Santana!" she called over her shoulder. Happily, she skipped out of Santana's apartment, satisfied that she had achieved what she had planned to from the very beginning. But she already knew that would happen. Sure, Santana was a bitch, but Quinn wasn't just a bitch—she was a very, _very_ conniving one.

* * *

"Stop it, Sandy."

Sandy continued to gaze up at Santana, tongue hanging out of his mouth in eagerness.

"No, Sandy," Santana tried to say in that strict tone of voice that pet owners used with their pets…or mothers with their impossible children.

It was ineffective to say the least because here Sandy was, still waiting.

"_Sandy_," Santana said exasperatedly, "you're a _dog_. Dogs don't eat Parma ham. Parma ham is for humans." Santana pointed to herself. "See? Human."

But the dog did not budge.

Santana couldn't believe it. She had only spent two hours with the dog, and she was at a loss already. Giving up her attempts at communicating with an animal, Santana stuffed the pack of Parma ham back into her fridge, hoping it would make Sandy less restless.

It didn't work. Even as she did the most mundane thing—sitting on her couch watching trashy reality television (Santana loved a good bitch fight)—Sandy waited by her feet, panting with his tongue all over the place.

"What do you want, Sandy?" she asked.

Sandy panted some more.

"Stop looking at me, you stupid dog."

Sandy seemed unaffected by her offensive words.

"Ugh, for God's sake," Santana groaned. "What do you want?"

And then he reacted. Wagging his tail excitedly, Sandy sauntered over to the door and scratched at it before sending Santana a look of longing.

Now she understood. He wanted to go out.

But where would she take him? The _park_? Where all the homeless people and drug dealers hung out? No way was Santana Lopez hanging out with a bunch of below-average looking losers at the park. But Sandy was whining and scratching at the door, and, ugh, fine.

* * *

Santana walked Sandy around the park with a look of distaste on her face. It was all too much for Santana. She preferred the quietness of her apartment, and nature smelled kind of bad to be honest.

The people populating the park didn't help the situation. Santana scanned the park with a scowl as Sandy hopped along, dragging her to every crevice of the park. There were the homeless people, and there were the drug dealers. There were the gay men with their sweater-clad Chihuahuas, and there were the middle-aged women with their annoying babies. There were the not so impressive street performers, and—

Santana halted in her tracks as Sandy tugged her toward someone's chocolate Labrador. It was all good that Sandy wanted to make friends, but Santana wasn't in the mood for any small talk (when was she ever?), much less with a happy, loving dog owner. But Sandy persisted, and Santana's thin body couldn't put up much of a fight. Damn that dog.

As Sandy and the chocolate Labrador sniffed each other, Santana tried once last time to yank Sandy away. Then, a voice interrupted her struggle. "Your dog is so adorable, aren't you, doggie? Aren't you?"

Santana rolled her eyes at the woman's baby talk but offered a half-hearted smile anyway—that is, until she really looked at the woman. The tall, blonde, _extremely_ hot woman.

The woman bent over and started petting Sandy enthusiastically, to which Sandy eagerly reacted, wagging his tail impossibly fast. Santana, though, was much less interested in Sandy's reaction than the bent over woman in front of her—specifically, the way the woman's shirt hung low and offered Santana a nice view of her, ahem, assets.

"What's his name?"

Santana subconsciously licked her lips as she continued staring down the woman's shirt.

"What's his name?" the woman asked again.

This time, Santana jolted out of her trance and met the woman's eyes—sharp, blue eyes that Santana had never seen anywhere else. Clearing her throat, Santana answered, "Sandy."

"Sandy?" The woman stood up straight and smiled down at Santana. "What a beautiful name."

"Yeah," Santana said with a shrug, frankly a bit dismayed by the woman's change in position. But then she held the woman's gaze, scrutinizing the woman's peculiar sapphire eyes and their mysterious glint. Santana couldn't quite place her finger on it, but that glimmer in the woman's riveting eyes mesmerized her in the strangest way.

"This is Sally," the woman told her, gesturing at her chocolate Labrador that was about the same size as Sandy.

"Oh," Santana said with fake interest, averting her heavy gaze, "cool."

The woman looked down at their dogs with a fond smile. Sandy and Sally were still sniffing and biting playfully at each other. "I think they like each other," she said.

Santana nodded. "Looks like it."

"So, you like dogs?"

Santana hesitated. She hated dogs. "Actually—"

"I _love_ dogs," the woman felt the need to add.

A grin spread across Santana's face as she watched those blue eyes sparkle in excitement. "I mean, how could anyone _not_ like them?" the woman asked, leaning down to brush her nose against her Labrador's.

"Well," Santana said with a shrug, about to offer a difference in opinion.

The woman glanced up at her. "Yeah?"

"Well," Santana continued, suddenly feeling the odd effects of those eyes again as soon as she met the woman's gaze, "exactly. How could they not?" _Oh, God, what is wrong with me?_ _No, Santana, this is not your fault. It's those damn eyes. They made you lie right to her face._

The woman giggled. "I'm glad we have something in common."

_And she giggles too? Kill me already._ "Um, hey," Santana said, clearing her throat and hopefully her distracted mind, "what's your name?"

"Brittany," the woman replied, extending her hand.

Good. Introductions. Santana could do introductions. Santana was an expert at introductions. With a well-practiced smirk, Santana grasped Brittany's soft hand into a firm handshake. "Nice to meet you, Brittany," she said. "I'm Santana."

* * *

After a brief chat, they decided to walk their dogs around the park together, seeing as how much they had in common: their love for dogs (false), their fondness of nature (false), their admiration for the street performers (false), and their friendly interest in each other (partly true—it was more like an intense sexual attraction on Santana's end).

Brittany, Santana learned (and immediately kept in mind), came to the park every day around four-thirty to walk her dog. And what a coincidence. Santana, Brittany learned, had just decided to make four-thirty her daily dog-walking time as well. Brittany smiled. They would be seeing a lot more of each other. Santana grinned. She sure hoped so.

Although Brittany's energy level did not seem to decrease one bit after their 40-minute walk, Santana's body had a different reaction. Her limbs ached, and the ever-sensitive Brittany noticed.

"Are you getting tired?" Brittany asked with a lopsided smile.

Santana glanced down at Brittany's long, toned legs that her jean shorts failed to hide. "No," she lied.

Brittany nodded. "Okay," she said, a hint of a smile still on her face. "Well," Brittany added after a moment, "_I'm _getting tired. Let's sit down at the dog run for a little bit."

Santana narrowed her eyes at Brittany; the spring in Brittany's steps begged to differ with her statement, but, tired as hell herself, Santana agreed.

They sat down at the benches and let their dogs run free, watching on with a proud smile. Well, Brittany did anyway. Santana was smiling too, but it was directed more to the woman next to her than her dog. Sandy, exhausted from chasing Sally around, slowed his steps and ambled around aimlessly. The next thing Santana knew, he squatted next to a pole and took a dump.

Santana immediately pulled a face, not having considered the prospect of Sandy crapping everywhere when she promised Quinn to take him in. Brittany seemed to notice Santana's expression of disgust because she immediately giggled to herself. "You know you're going to have to clean that up, right?" Brittany asked playfully.

"Uh, hell no."

Brittany frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not cleaning that shit up," Santana said defiantly.

"But…you have to."

"What?"

"I'm pretty sure cleaning up after your dog is a rule here." Brittany looked confused now. "Or is it not?"

"Uh…" What the hell did Santana know about dog rules? "I mean, sure it is. I was just, um, kidding with you."

"Oh."

"Well," Santana said more assertively as she got up from the bench. "Let me go do some cleaning." She began to walk toward Sandy—stupid, _pooping_ Sandy—when she realized she had nothing to clean with.

"Hey, Santana?" Brittany called out, noticing Santana's empty handedness as well.

Santana spun around. "Yeah?"

"Don't you need, like, a paper bag or something?"

"Yes," Santana said unsurely. "Yes, I do."

Brittany grinned. "Here, I have one if you need it," she offered, pulling a paper bag out of her purse.

Santana smiled, walking back over to Brittany to take the bag. "Thank you, Brittany."

Brittany nodded. "No problem." Then she leaned back in her seat, watching in amusement as Santana cautiously approached the pile of dog crap.

* * *

The sky had turned grey, taking some joy out of Brittany's eyes. But they still shone as brilliantly as when Santana had first gazed into them. Brittany and Santana were in the middle of discussing Sandy's age ("How old is he?" "Old." "But how old?" "Like…a few years old…" "In dog years or human years?" "There's a difference?") when Brittany glanced at her watch and suddenly leapt out of her seat.

"Oh, crap, I'm going to be late!"

"Late for what?" Santana stood up as well, feeling a little disappointed that Brittany had to leave.

"For an audition," Brittany replied absentmindedly as she hooked the leash back onto Sally's collar. "C'mon, Sally," she cooed, trying to tug Sally away from Sandy, who she was apparently inseparable from now.

"What audition?" Santana asked.

"A dance audition," Brittany said. "Well, it was nice meeting you, Santana. Sorry I have to run out on you like this," she said, already walking briskly away with Sally in tow.

"Wait!" Santana called after her. "Will I see you again?"

Brittany spun her head around, whipping her blonde hair momentarily across her fair before it settled on her shoulders. She smirked at seeing Santana's eager face. "I hope so."

Well, that was a sight Santana wasn't going to forget anytime soon.

* * *

That evening, Santana walked Sandy home with an uncharacteristic spring in her step. The homeless people were almost tolerable, the street performers were almost mediocre, and the trees were almost pleasant. She looked down at the clumsy Golden Retriever trotting along beside her, and even Sandy was almost charming.

At least the dog wasn't all bad. Yeah, it shit everywhere and was super high maintenance, but Santana wouldn't have met Brittany if not for Sandy. So she supposed Sandy didn't completely suck.

When she got back to her apartment, there were ten messages on her answering machine, and seven of them were from Quinn.

"Hey, Santana. How's Sandy doing?"

"Hey, Santana, you're not picking up your cell. I'm worried. Are you handling Sandy okay?"

"Santana, where are you?"

"Santana, you better tell me Sandy's still alive."

"I'm going to fucking kill you if—"

Santana stopped the machine right there. Quinn's paranoid behavior was not helping matters at all. She didn't even bother to listen to the two other messages. Those girls had to stop calling her. Why was it so hard for them—heck, for all girls—to understand that Santana had moved on?

As Santana took the leash off Sandy and poured him a bowl of dog food she had just bought (she had specifically chosen from the "weight management" series—God knows Sandy needs some weight managing), her house phone rang. Not feeling much like talking to anyone, Santana proceeded to pour herself a glass of wine, waiting for the call to go to her answering machine.

"Santana, pick up the phone right now or else—"

"Or else what, Quinn?" Santana asked with a sigh. She perched the phone between her shoulder and her ear, taking a large sip from her glass.

"Thank God you answered. How is Sandy doing?"

"He's fine. Stop freaking out."

"Good."

"How's Vegas?"

"Eh… Hot."

Santana chuckled. "So, say… Wanna give me Nicole's number?"

"Um, no. I'm not stupid, Santana. You're going to disown Sandy the minute you get Nic's number."

"Is that what her friends call her? Nic?"

"Stop being a creep. You're not getting her number until I come home and see that Sandy's alive."

"Fine."

"Okay, I'll talk to you later, Santana."

"Bye, Quinn."

"Bye."

Santana hung up the phone and took another big gulp of wine, surveying her apartment with a forced objectivity. It was spacious, decorated everywhere with pricey artwork, littered with state-of-the-art technology, and situated in the middle of New fucking York.

But there were moments like this one when she couldn't help but feel there was too much space, when she couldn't give a crap about the art, when she found herself questioning her decision to purchase those thousand-dollar speakers that she never used as she gazed out her floor-length windows at the meanest, coldest, most heartless city in the world.


	2. Chapter 2

Santana stormed into work the next morning with Sandy in tow and a scowl on her face. As soon as she entered the office, every lowly employee in the cubicles spun around in their chairs and stared disbelievingly at Santana and her cheerful pet. Never had Santana brought any type of life form with her to work in her past five years as senior director; she never even so much as brought a plant to her workplace as decoration, not to mention a moving, breathing _dog_.

Well aware of everyone's surprise, Santana deepened her frown and threw a glare at her employees. "Since you all have time to stare, does this mean I have to double your workload?" she asked.

As everyone quickly scrambled back to work, Santana shook her head and entered her private office. She took the leash off Sandy, seeing as how there was nothing Sandy could possibly ruin in Santana's office. Everything was either paper or some type of electronic, all strictly work-related.

She settled in her large rolly chair and immediately turned on her laptop to read the morning's emails until she heard a knock on her door. "Come in," she muttered distractedly while still scrolling through her emails.

"Good morning, Ms. Lopez," a timid voice said. "I just wanted to remind you that you have a meeting at four-thirty today with Mr. Robinson."

"Fine." Santana shifted her attention to the new documents at the corner of her desk when she paused. "Wait," she said, furrowing her eyebrows. "Did you say four-thirty?"

"Yes, ma'am," her assistant replied, glancing curiously at Sandy.

"I can't do four-thirty."

"Oh." The small, skinny man frowned. "But just yesterday you told me four-thirty was good."

"Well, it's not anymore." Santana tapped her pen impatiently against her desk. "Change it."

"A-alright." The assistant nodded and turned toward the door as he scribbled in his notebook.

"And Artie?"

He spun around. "Yes?"

"A black coffee with sugar, please," she said curtly, rummaging through her files.

"Of course."

* * *

As four-thirty rolled around, Santana had already finished her day's work an hour earlier than usual and was finding it hard to wipe that smile off her face no matter how hard she tried. Sandy was being annoying as usual, bouncing all around her office in excitement as she picked up his leash.

"Stop it, Sandy," she said, hooking the leash onto his collar. But he only wagged his tail all the more, and it was sort of adorable, Santana supposed. She grabbed her briefcase and walked briskly out of her office, tugging Sandy along. "Artie," she said as she walked by his desk, "I'm heading home for the day. Call me on my cell if anything comes up."

"Will do. Have a nice day, Miss Lopez.

Santana nodded. And since she was in such a surprisingly upbeat mood, she added, "You, too."

* * *

As Santana took a cab to the park, she briefly considered how she could keep her job and still get out an hour early every day. But, then again, this dog situation was only temporary; besides, it wasn't the first time she had gone to extremes for a girl (see: Nicole).

Sandy stuck his head out of the window and let his tongue flap against the wind, occasionally barking in joy. Santana was about to pull him back in, but, on second thought, she let him be and simply watched Sandy with a tiny smirk on her face.

When she arrived at the park, she paid the driver and let Sandy drag her out of the vehicle. Struggling with her heels, Santana awkwardly hopped behind Sandy as he rushed to the dog run.

Suddenly, he came to a stop. In front of them were Brittany and Sally, who Sandy had already tackled to the ground. The dogs pawed playfully at each other as Santana caught her breath.

"Hey," Brittany said with a lopsided grin.

Santana smiled back breathlessly. "Hi," she panted, tucking a few loose locks of hair behind her ear.

Brittany smirked. "You missed a piece," she murmured, reaching her hand out to brush a small strand of hair out of Santana's face.

"Oh. Thanks."

Brittany nodded. "You look fancy today."

Santana laughed nervously. "Oh, you know, work clothes."

"Aha." Brittany gestured at the corner where Santana got off the cab. "Is that where you were coming from?"

"Yeah."

Brittany narrowed her eyes as she began to walk toward a bench. "You get out of work early," she pointed out.

Santana sat beside Brittany on the bench and shrugged. "Yeah, I can pretty much leave whenever I want."

"Well, that's nice that you sacrifice some work time for Sandy."

Santana flashed Brittany a nervous grin. "Thanks."

Brittany locked eyes with Santana for another moment before she burst out into giggles.

"What?" Santana asked self-consciously, looking down at herself to see if something was out of place.

Brittany shook her head, easing her giggles into a soft smile. "Just the way you said 'thanks' and then that…smile on your face."

Frowning, Santana asked, "What's wrong with my smile?" She smiled again to prove her point.

This time, Brittany hid her face underneath her palms as she laughed even harder. "It's just," she started to say as she caught her breath. "It's kind of…rigid."

Santana's frown deepened.

"No!" Brittany pleaded. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Frown."

"Well," Santana reasoned, settling uncomfortably back in her seat, "since I can't smile, I might as well frown."

"Your smile's very cute, Santana," Brittany assured her. "Just a little strained is all."

Santana looked away. "Hm."

"Oh, come on." Brittany nudged her. "Smile, please?"

Santana kept her scowl locked in place and defiantly shook her head.

Brittany pouted. "Please? For me?"

Even though Santana was still looking away, Brittany noticed a small smirk crossing her face. "That's it," Brittany said.

Santana glanced at Brittany and raised her eyebrows.

Brittany grinned, brazenly reaching out her fingers to pull Santana's smirk into a full, wide smile.

"Brittany!" Santana exclaimed, swatting those soft hands away. "What are you doing?"

Brittany shrugged. "I just wanted to see a big, genuine smile on your face."

Santana narrowed her eyes. "You're really something, aren't you?"

"What?" Brittany furrowed her eyebrows. "I mean, I'm a person."

Santana grinned. Before she could say anything else, Sandy started nuzzling into her legs. To which Santana flinched away with disgust.

"What's wrong?" Brittany asked.

"Oh." Santana looked down at Sandy, remembering that she was supposed to be a dog lover. "I'm…sick." She nodded. "Yeah. I'm sick, so I don't want to get Sandy sick, too."

"Oh, no. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. It's just, like…a fever or something. No biggie."

Brittany widened her eyes. "You have a fever?" She immediately placed her palm onto Santana's forehead, checking her temperature. "Oh, gosh. You _are_ warm."

Santana blinked. "I am?"

Brittany clicked her tongue in disapproval and suddenly pressed her cheek against Santana's.

"Um, what are you doing?" Santana mumbled.

"It's easier to check your temperature this way," Brittany told her.

"Oh." Santana wasn't exactly an expert at caring for people, so she simply nodded.

"Well," Brittany said at last, pulling back from Santana, "I don't think your fever's too bad. But you should probably take something."

"Right."

"It always makes me feel better when my mom makes me chicken noodle soup," Brittany added with a cute smile.

Santana chuckled. "Oh, yeah?"

"Uh huh. I can make some pretty good chicken noodle soup, too," Brittany said proudly.

Santana smirked. "What can't you do, Brittany?"

"Well—" Brittany paused, catching Santana's humorous tone. "That was a rhetorical question, wasn't it?"

But that only made Santana laugh all the more.

When Brittany pouted, Santana quickly gathered herself. "But I mean it, Britt. You can cook, you can dance—" Santana tilted her head, as if realizing something. "Oh, yeah. How was your dance audition by the way?"

At the topic of dance, Brittany immediately perked up. "It went really well, I think."

"Good." Santana smiled, nodding. "Awesome."

Brittany giggled. "Thanks."

"So…you're a dancer, then?"

Brittany nodded. "Yep. Well, I don't have a dancing job right now, so I'm working part-time at a zoo."

"See?" Santana exclaimed. "You can cook, you can dance, and you can take care of animals. What can't you do, Brittany?"

Brittany looked away sheepishly.

Santana chuckled at Brittany's pink cheeks. "_And_ you're cute as a button. Jeez, Brittany, leave some for the rest of us."

"Are you flirting with me, Santana?" Brittany asked playfully.

"Well—"

"Brittany!"

Santana spun around and immediately narrowed her eyes at the outrageously preppy man approaching them. He sported a navy blue blazer, perfectly ironed khakis, and a fucking bowtie for God's sake.

But Brittany had quite a different reaction. "Blaine!" she squealed. Even Sally wagged her tail in excitement.

"Blaine" walked up to them, complete with his _charming_ smile and three whole jars of gel sitting in his hair. He leaned down and pecked Brittany on the cheek before turning to Santana. "And this must be…?"

"Oh, yeah!" Brittany exclaimed. "Blaine, this is Santana. And Santana, Blaine."

Blaine grinned and extended his hand. Santana squinted her eyes at him and flashed him a half-hearted smile as she shook his hand. "Nice to meet you," Blaine said.

Santana nodded curtly. "Likewise."

After a moment of tension—mostly from Santana—Blaine nodded and said, "Well, I have to run."

He bent down and gave Sally's head a quick pat. Flashing Brittany one last smile, he said, "I'll see you both at home," and walked away.

Santana cringed. Of course Brittany was in a relationship. And of course Brittany was straight. Honestly, she didn't understand what Brittany saw in this Blaine character. He was rather short, his eyebrows frankly freaked Santana out, and the way he dressed was simply socially unacceptable. In a moment of frustration, Santana stood up and grabbed Sandy's leash.

"What's wrong?" Brittany asked. She had noticed the strange look on Santana's face earlier.

"I just remembered I had somewhere to be," Santana lied.

"Okay…" Brittany had a feeling that wasn't it. "Um, well, bye, I guess."

Santana looked down at Brittany. "Yeah, bye."

"I'm glad you met Blaine, though," Brittany tried, "because he really is the best—"

"Oh, yes, I'm sure he is," Santana forced herself to say with a straight face.

"Santana, I didn't even finish my sentence."

"I'm so sorry," Santana drawled in an overly pleasant voice. "Please tell me more about him."

Brittany tilted her head slightly, her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed in a mix of confusion and annoyance. "Now you're just making fun of me, Santana."

"Well, maybe I am." Defiantly, Santana spun on her heel and proceeded to walk away when Sandy's weight pulled her back. She glanced at Sandy with a frown and tugged on his leash. "C'mon, Sandy." But Sandy wasn't having any of it. He was too busy nuzzling up against Sally, and, as Santana continued jerking futilely at the leash, Brittany crossed her arms and watched with a raised eyebrow. "_Sandy_," Santana tried again, annoyed and embarrassed—especially with that look on Brittany's face. "Look, I'll give you all your favorite snacks when we get home, okay? Does that sound good? Chips? Candy? Chocolate?"

At the sound of chocolate, Sandy turned to Santana, as if actually intrigued by her proposition.

"Good boy!" Santana exclaimed when Sandy got up from the ground.

"Um, Santana," Brittany interrupted, "I don't think chocolate's a good—"

"Oh, now you want to talk?" Santana asked. "I'm sorry I have to bring my lovely dog home and feed him chocolate. Is that right, Sandy?"

"No, seriously, you don't want to feed him chocolate."

"Brittany, you do not get to tell me what I can and cannot do."

"I'm just trying to look out for Sandy."

"You know what?" Santana said indignantly. "Goodbye, Brittany." With that, she held her head high and quickly made her way to the exit of the park. Was she hoping that Brittany would follow her? Maybe. After all, she was smoking hot—she knew it, and everyone else around her knew it. And have there have been many a man and woman chasing after Santana? Yes, in fact, there have been.

So when Santana hopped in her cab and reached to pull the door shut only to be stopped by Brittany's hand holding the door, she smiled triumphantly.

"Look, Brittany, it's not a big deal."

"What's not a big deal?" Brittany asked confusedly.

"I mean, an apology would be nice, but you don't have to."

Brittany tilted her head to the side and smiled awkwardly at Santana. "Uhh, I was just gonna tell you not to feed Sandy chocolate 'cause dogs die from that."

"Yes, Brittany," Santana sighed in an exaggeratedly dull voice, "I forgive—wait, what?"

Brittany chuckled at the look of shock on Santana's face that quickly turned into embarrassment. "No chocolate for Sandy, okay?"

Santana nodded, turning her face away to hide the blush on her cheeks.

"Goodbye, Santana."

"Bye."

With a shake of her head, Brittany shut the door and watched the cab pull away.

* * *

"Sandy," Santana whined.

Sandy wagged his tongue at her, oblivious to her pain.

"That was so humiliating."

More panting from Sandy.

"Now you're not even listening."

Santana opened the door to her apartment and dragged her defeated body inside. She plopped onto the couch and turned on the television. "I'm just going to hide here and never, ever see Brittany again," she continued. "Whatever, it's not like I should see her anyway since she has _Blaine_…right, Sandy?"

Santana groaned. "You're supposed to say _no_, Sandy. God, why am I even talking to you? I'm supposed to hate you." As if remembering something, Santana grabbed her phone and dialed Quinn's number.

"Hello?"

"Quinn, when are you going to get this stupid dog out of my hands?"

"God, Santana, calm down. I'll be home in five days."

"Ugh, fine. The sooner the better, jerk."

"I know, I know. How are you doing anyway?"

"You know, the usual. Fine. You?"

"Same."

After a short lapse of silence, Santana blurted out, "Actually, I met this girl."

"A girl?" Quinn asked in a mockingly suggestive tone.

"Yes." Santana rolled her eyes at Quinn's change in tone.

"So, what? Did you sleep with her?"

"No!"

"What? You didn't?"

"She's just…not that type of girl, okay?"

"Oh, my gosh, Santana Lopez. I can't remember the last time you told me about a girl you _didn't_ sleep with."

"Well—" Santana sighed. Quinn was probably right. And now Quinn's all-knowing attitude was seriously pissing her off.

"So what's so special about this one, huh? Is she marriage material?"

"M-marriage?" Santana asked shakily. "What the hell, Quinn?"

"You know I'm just kidding with you. But, seriously, is she a keeper?"

"I mean, I don't know," Santana mumbled embarrassingly. "I barely know her."

"Well, look at you. Santana Lopez, all grown up."

"Quinn!" Santana could feel the blush coming onto her cheeks. Good thing Quinn couldn't see her face right now. "Whatever, I'm hanging up."

"Wait, no! I wanna hear all about this girl!"

"Bye, Quinn."

"Santa—"

"Bye."


	3. Chapter 3

By the time four rolled around, Santana was spinning restlessly in her desk chair. To go to the park or not? On the one hand, she really wanted to see Brittany, but, on the other hand, she did make a complete fool out of herself the day before, and she wasn't sure she could even face Brittany again.

But she did want to see her.

And Sandy _was_ watching her from the couch in the corner of her office (which had somehow turned into his nap area) with sad, longing eyes.

And we all know how considerate Santana was of dear Sandy's feelings.

Right?

Santana drummed her fingers on her desk, eyeing Sandy and deep in thought. "Alright," she finally declared. She hopped out of her chair and put Sandy's leash through his legs. "Just for you, Sandy. Just for you."

* * *

Santana paced along the fence with a confused Sandy in tow. She could just go home right now. She could totally do that. Or she could just go inside the park and "accidentally" run into Brittany again. And hope Brittany didn't think she was a total weirdo. Decisions, decisions. As Santana made her fifth lap, someone tapped her shoulder, and she jumped on the spot.

Brittany giggled at Santana's surprise. "Hi there."

Santana swallowed nervously and put on her best smile. "Well, hello, Brittany!"

"What are you doing here, walking back and forth?" Brittany tilted her head cutely.

"Uh, well, I was just, you know…"

Brittany raised her eyebrows, waiting for an answer.

"Walking's, um, good for you."

"Uh, ok." Sally scratched at Brittany's legs and tried to pull her toward the park. "Well, Sally wants to go in the park now. You coming?"

Santana nodded. "Yes, definitely."

Brittany sent Santana another weird look, but it soon turned into a coy smile as she let Sally tug her along. They sat at their usual bench (God, they had _their_ bench now, Santana realized with a twinge of disgust and a little something else that fluttered in her stomach) and let Sandy and Sally go free in the dog run.

As they watched their dogs paw at each other, Santana suddenly cleared her throat and turned to look at Brittany. "I'm…sorry about yesterday."

"Hm?" Brittany smiled at her, and she had no idea why.

"You know, I kind of freaked out on you, and I was being weird, so I'm sorry."

Santana waited for Brittany's reaction, unsure of what to expect. In a few moments, as if having mulled over the apology, Brittany nodded once and said, "I forgive you."

That was not the response Santana had in mind, but she smiled at Brittany and looked toward their dogs again. "Thanks."

"Yeah."

After several seconds, Brittany broke the silence. Her eyes were still on the dogs as she said, "Not that I owe you an explanation, but Blaine's my friend."

"Oh." Santana let the information sink in with as much coolness as she could muster, even though her legs were telling her to jump off the bench and do a tiny victory dance. It had to mean something if Brittany went out of her way to say that, right?

"Mmhmm."

Santana glanced at Brittany and couldn't help but beam at this new piece of information. Looking at Brittany and knowing that she was very possibly single made her heart beat just a tad quicker.

Then Brittany caught Santana's staring and grinned back.

Santana was pretty damn sure they shared a moment right then, after having taken an extra step solely for the other person. But, as they continued to gaze cutely at one another, Santana remembered something that didn't quite fall into place.

She furrowed her eyebrows and leaned away a bit as she struggled to figure it out.

"What's wrong?" Brittany asked.

"Why did Blaine say he'd see you at home?"

Brittany's eyes widened, and she looked away slowly, as if just remembering that detail herself. "Uh, we're roommates."

"Oh." Santana narrowed her eyes at Brittany. Something felt off. "I see."

"Anyway," Brittany said quickly, "you feeling better?"

Santana frowned. "Better from what?"

"You said you had a fever yesterday?"

"Oh!" Santana chuckled nervously. "Yeah, yeah, I'm all better now."

Brittany grinned at her. "Okay."

"You wanna check?" Santana stuck her cheek out for Brittany to feel like she did last time.

So Brittany placed her palm on Santana's cheek and nodded slowly. "Feels good to me."

"You sure you don't need to check with your cheek?" Santana asked cheekily. "You said it's better that way."

"You're right, I should." Brittany sent her a knowing grin as she leaned in and pressed her cheek to Santana's. She lingered there longer than she needed to check for a nonexistent fever, but when she backed away, Santana suddenly turned her face toward Brittany, brushing their noses against each other.

"Oh," Brittany breathed softly.

Santana stared at Brittany's lips, their faces just inches apart. Damn, she really wanted to fucking kiss her, but God knows if the elusive Brittany is single at all. Then again, did Santana ever really care about people's relationship statuses before kissing them?

No, not really. Then why the hell was she hesitating? And, Jesus, her body was just tingling from the excitement. She could literally feel vibrations running down her legs. The things Brittany did to her. She should just go for it. Just go for it.

"Santana?"

"Hm?" Santana hummed offhandedly as she leaned toward those pink lips.

"I think your phone's ringing."

Santana paused. "What?"

"Yeah, your phone." Brittany looked down at Santana's pocket, with Santana following her line of sight. Sure enough, her phone was vibrating against her thigh. With a resigned sigh, Santana dragged herself away from Brittany and answered her phone. "What?" she spat.

"Well, well, well, someone's in quite a mood today."

"What do you want?" Santana pointed at her phone and rolled her eyes, earning a cute giggle from Brittany.

"Hey, I'm calling to bring good news. We're already wrapping the deal up, so—"

"Fabray," Santana interrupted. "I'm actually kinda in the middle of something, so I'll call you later tonight, 'kay?"

"Jeez, Lopez. Fine, I'll talk to you later."

"Bye."

"Bye, I'll see you soon!"

Santana quickly slipped her phone back into her pocket and sent Brittany an apologetic smile. "Sorry about that."

"Oh, that's okay. Was that…your boyfriend?"

"Oh!" Santana's eyebrows shot right up to her hairline. "No, no, no. Not at all. No…boyfriends for me."

Brittany grinned at this. "Ever?"

"Ever."

"So…that was your girlfriend then?"

Santana smirked slowly at Brittany's not-so-subtle ways. "Not in a relationship right now."

"Aha…"

"And how about you?" Santana tried to look away casually as she asked, "Any boyfriends for you?"

Brittany shook her head. "Nope."

"Girlfriends?" Santana asked hopefully.

"No girlfriend either."

"Ever?" Santana repeated Brittany's question from earlier.

"Not ever." Brittany smiled flirtatiously at Santana as she said, "Sometimes."

Santana breathed a huge sigh of relief at this, and it must have shown because Brittany chuckled quietly.

Santana rubbed at her thighs nervously, not knowing how to proceed now that she knew Brittany was available _and_ into girls sometimes. But, as always, Brittany filled in the awkward silence. "You said you were in the middle of something earlier."

"Uh, yeah, I did."

"What would that be?" Brittany asked coyly. Sometimes, Santana thought Brittany made her uncomfortable with her undeniable charm on purpose.

"Well, you know, this thing," Santana said, gesturing between the two of them. "Us."

"Is there an 'us'?" Brittany asked this slowly, and she watched carefully for a response.

Santana cleared her throat. "There could be," she managed to choke out.

Brittany smirked at this. "Okay." Brittany nodded a bit as she turned away, but Santana could still see a hint of a smile on her face. Jeez, what was it about this girl that made Santana so jittery?

And now Santana really wanted to do _something_, but she'd never been so self-conscious in her life. God, was this what people with absolutely no game felt like all the time? Because it sucked. These things usually just came naturally to Santana, but now she found herself scrambling for excuses to get closer to Brittany. In a moment of desperation, she resorted to the classic stretch move—and instantly regretted it.

After stretching her arms not so discreetly over the back of the bench, she awkwardly placed her hand on Brittany's shoulder. Brittany raised an eyebrow at the weak grasp on her shoulder, but, when she turned and saw the nervous grin on Santana's face, she chuckled and scooted closer. "Oh, c'mon," she chided good-naturedly as she tugged Santana's arm tighter over her shoulder. "Hold a girl right if you're gonna do it."

Santana chuckled nervously as she tightened her grip around Brittany. She guessed her dorkiness worked out in the end.

"You're kind of a dork, you know that?" Brittany asked, as if reading Santana's mind.

"No, I'm not!" Santana had never thought of herself as a dork…not until now, anyway.

"Don't deny it," Brittany told her. "It's cute."

Santana grinned at this. "Oh, yeah?"

"Uh huh."

"You're cute."

Brittany scrunched her nose. "I don't know about that."

"Well, take my word for it."

"How do I know you're not lying to me?"

"Look, Brittany, even the saddest, most critical person in the world would find you cute."

"Yeah, right."

"And kind and smart and very, very pretty."

"Alright, now you're just going overboard."

Santana smiled and shrugged. Brittany had to know how hot she was.

"Besides," Brittany added, "you're pretty hot yourself."

"Are you hitting on me, Brittany?" Santana asked jokingly. "Because we barely know each other, and you're being very forward…"

"Stop it," Brittany giggled, reaching out to hit Santana's arm.

But Santana quickly flung her arm further away from Brittany's reach. "Hey, hey," she scolded as Brittany tried again and again. Finally, she grabbed onto Brittany's wrist to stop her. Suddenly, Brittany's giggles ceased as they found themselves almost nose to nose.

Santana bit her lip as she made her decision to just go for it before she missed the chance like earlier. So she squinted her eyes shut and leaned in and pushed her lips into Brittany's and then Brittany was gone.

Santana quickly opened her eyes to find Brittany backed away, with a hand over her lips and her eyes wide with surprise. Santana felt like her stomach had disappeared when she realized that she had gone for it and had fallen face first. She scrambled up from the bench with a muttered "sorry" and hastily walked away.

"Wait, Santana!" Brittany called.

But Santana ignored her and continued to head straight for the exit, too embarrassed to see Brittany ever again. God, why did Brittany always put her in this position?

"Santana!" Brittany yelled again.

Brittany's voice seemed to be getting louder, and, realizing that Brittany was chasing after her, Santana just walked all the quicker.

But then the sound of Brittany's pants became alarmingly close, and, the next thing Santana knew, Brittany had grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. Brittany sucked in a deep breath (and, damn, why is even _that_ sexy?) and held out her palm. "You forgot your dog," she panted as Santana blushed even harder at the leash in Brittany's hands.

Without another word, Santana snatched the leash and spun on her heels again, internally yelling at herself for forgetting the damn _dog_ (who the fuck does that?). But, before she could take another step, Brittany had grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

Santana was too busy stumbling into Brittany's arms to register the lips moving against hers, gently at first then more urgent all of a sudden. When she did fully comprehend what was going on, Brittany had pulled back and was looking back at Santana while licking her lips.

"Um," Santana started to mumble. What the hell was happening? One minute Brittany turned her down, and the next she was macking on her?

"Sorry, you just caught me by surprise earlier," Brittany explained.

"Oh."

"Yeah," Brittany said, tracing a finger along her bottom lip, "that should have happened sooner."

* * *

"So…" Santana rocked on her feet as they stood along the sidewalk by the fence. The sky had turned dark already. They'd been hanging out in the park longer than Santana knew.

"So…" Brittany had a cheeky grin on her face as she watched Santana play nervously with her hair. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow?"

Santana nodded abruptly. "Yup."

Brittany chuckled. "Don't forget your dog this time!"

Santana blushed at the mortifying memory. "I promise you I won't."

"Okay, well, I guess this is goodbye then," Brittany said slowly as she peered at Santana's downturned face.

"Yeah, I guess it is." Santana kept her eyes on the ground.

Brittany sighed a little and tugged on Sally's leash. "Alright, bye, Santana."

"Bye," Santana mumbled back.

With disappointment evident in her frown, Brittany turned to leave. Then, a grip on her arm stopped her.

"You forgot something," Santana told her with a charming smirk.

Brittany had time to blink once before Santana held her by the waist and planted a long, sweet kiss on her lips.

"Oh," Brittany breathed when they broke apart. "Better remember that next time."

Santana laughed, all raspy and sultry. "You better."

She grinned at Santana thoughtfully. When the girl wanted to be, she could be so damn smooth. And then there were other times when Santana fumbled and fidgeted, and it was almost just as if not even more endearing. "Well, this is goodbye for real now," Brittany said.

Santana nodded. "Bye, Brittany."

"Bye. I'll see you tomorrow," Brittany said with a wink as she began to walk away.

Santana pointed at her. "Four-thirty." Brittany nodded, and Santana watched her leave with a silly grin that she knew wasn't planning to disappear anytime soon.

* * *

"Oh, Sandy," Santana sighed as she walked along the sidewalk with a bounce in her steps even Sandy wasn't used to. "Look at the weather and the squirrels and the people—" Santana pulled a face of disgust when she saw a homeless man spit at the ground. "Okay, never mind, I still hate people, but I just feel so…nice."

Sandy looked up at Santana and wagged his tongue.

Santana smiled at him. "C'mon, cutie, there's a cab coming." She hailed down the cab and ushered Sandy inside first. "I think tonight calls for a celebration, don't you? I'll have some wine, you'll have some wine… Or maybe not. You might get drunk. In any case, we'll have a feast."

Sandy scrambled over to Santana and rested his chin on her lap. He let out a soft whine of content, and Santana rubbed right under his ears. For the first time, she didn't think about all the hair Sandy was leaving on her designer skirt.

* * *

Santana went for her usual glass of wine to go with some takeout from her favorite diner down the block. She grabbed a bowl from her cupboard (because, yes, Santana didn't bother to buy a dog bowl specifically for Sandy) and poured Sandy some food.

She turned on the television and mindlessly watched her favorite, trashiest shows (she was convinced they were educational) when Sandy hopped onto the couch with her. Santana jerked away at first on instinct but quickly made room for Sandy. As the light outside disappeared completely and as the television droned on and on, Santana slowly drifted off, cuddled up to Sandy's soft body.

For the first time in years, Santana fell asleep with her own loneliness far from her mind.


	4. Chapter 4

"Good morning, Quinn," Santana said pleasantly as she slipped into the bustling coffee shop, her cellphone perched neatly between her shoulder and her ear.

"Well, hello. Did someone die? Because you sound surprisingly cordial."

Santana tut-tutted Quinn with a shake of her head. "You know I would never find so much satisfaction in someone's death."

"I know, I know. I've just never seen you this happy so early in the morning before."

"You know, Quinn, people change." Santana took a quick glance at the menu before saying to the cashier, "A large iced coffee with a shot of espresso please." She paid and moved over to wait for her drink.

"I'm gone for a few days, and it's like you're a different person. I don't know how I feel about that."

"Hmm, maybe you've been a bad influence on me."

"Whatever. You never called me again yesterday."

"Oh, right. I totally forgot. What did you want to tell me?" Santana picked up her drink and pulled gently on the leash to signal for Sandy to get up and go.

"Well, we're basically done with negotiations…"

Santana sipped on her coffee. "Mmhmm…"

"So I'll be home today!"

Santana choked on the drink, quickly attracting attention from the pedestrians around her. "What?" she managed to ask.

"I'm coming home! Aren't you excited? No more dealing with Sandy? I'll get that date with Nicole set up since you've managed to keep Sandy alive until now? Santana? Hello?" Quinn's tone turned dangerously serious at Santana's unresponsiveness. "Wait, Sandy is alive, right?"

"Yes!" Santana exclaimed. "Yes, he is."

"Oh, thank God. You scared me for a second there, Santana. So yeah, I'm coming home. Get ready to celebrate."

"Excellent!" Santana gushed with a forced excitement. Damn it, how was she going to go on her daily _dog _walks with Brittany without a freaking dog? And she didn't even want to think about Nicole right now.

"You don't sound that excited," Quinn said.

"But I am," Santana said in her best happy voice (which sounded more like a normal person's angry voice).

"Okay…"

"So, uh, when today?"

"If all goes as planned, I should be back by noon."

"Wow, that's really soon."

"I know, right? I can't wait to see you."

"Same here." Santana chuckled dryly. "Well, you're probably going to be super tired, right? So why don't you just leave Sandy with me for the rest of the day? Or, you know, the week, the month…"

"The month?" Quinn laughed. "That's funny, Santana. But, no, I'll be fine. Besides, I miss my Sandy! So I'll see you for lunch today?"

"Okay, lunch," she said weakly. Santana rubbed at her temples. Now she needed a plan.

* * *

"Artie?"

"Yes?" came his voice through the phone.

"Please come into my office right now."

"Yes, ma'am."

In a second, Artie came through the door, notebook in hand and those glasses Santana hated perched on his nose. "What may I help you with, Ms. Lopez?"

Santana tapped her pen rapidly against her desk, chewing her lip in thought. "You see Sandy over there?" She pointed at the dog, who was rolling around on the couch. "What type of dog is he?"

"Um." Artie pushed his glasses up. "That…Sandy would be a Golden Retriever."

"Aha." Santana narrowed her eyes as plans concocted in her mind. "So, say, where could I get a Golden Retriever?"

"Um—"

"That looks exactly like that."

Artie frowned. "Any type of puppy store, probably."

"Excellent. Are there any puppy stores around here?"

"I believe so." Artie scribbled something down in his notebook. "I could check for you right now."

"Great. Find a puppy store, and go get me a Golden Retriever that looks just like Sandy."

"You want me to buy you a Golden Retriever?" Artie asked incredulously.

Santana frowned. She thought she had been perfectly clear about that. "Yes, Artie. And I need the dog by four."

"_Four?_"

"Yes, Artie, four." Santana crossed her arms across her chest. "Am I really hard to understand or something today? Or are you just not listening?"

"No, no, you are completely understandable." Artie nodded once. "Well, I should get going now."

Santana heaved a huge sigh as the door closed behind Artie. Everything's under control, right?

* * *

The ever-impatient Santana stormed out of her office, only to find Artie's desk still empty as it was an hour ago. She glanced at the analog clock on his desk. Eleven-thirty A.M. Where was he?

After grumpily plopping back into her chair, she tried his cell again—and, finally, he picked up.

"Miss Lo—"

"Artie, where the fuck are you? And do you not understand the purpose of a cel-lu-lar te-le-phone?"

Artie hesitated, although he really shouldn't have been taken aback by anything coming out of Santana's mouth anymore. "It turns out, Miss Lopez, Golden Retrievers of Sandy's size are rather hard to find.

"What do you mean of Sandy's size?" Santana spat.

"Sandy's a little bigger, that's all."

Santana rolled her eyes. "This is not the time for you to judge Sandy based on his size."

"No, I reassure you, I am not. There are still a few pet shops in the city I could stop by—"

"Don't bother. I have to leave for lunch in fifteen minutes. Goodbye, Artie."

Santana dropped her head to her desk and sighed. Now what?

* * *

"Santana!" Quinn leaped out her chair and threw her arms around Santana.

Santana gingerly wrapped her arms around Quinn and awkwardly let Quinn rock her back and forth. When they separated, Santana grinned and said, "Hi."

"How have you been?" Quinn asked as she knelt down to pet Sandy.

"I've been…good," Santana replied. And she had been. She just needed a freaking Golden Retriever right now. "Look, Quinn." Santana slumped into her chair as she prepared to explain how she needed Sandy right now in the least sentimental way possible.

"What's up?"

"About Sandy…"

"Yeah, thanks for actually not killing him by the way." Quinn smiled genuinely at Santana as she sipped on her water.

"Yeah—"

"Which is why I might need you to take in Sandy for another day."

Santana paused. "What?"

"Yeah," Quinn sighed. "Arthur has this ridiculous event he wants me to go to tonight."

Santana straightened up in her chair and sent Sandy a glance. He wagged his tail back. "So…I'm keeping him until tomorrow?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Sorry I'm being such a bother."

"Well," Santana started to say, trying her best to cover her happiness with her typical sass, "you suck as always, but whatever."

"I know. If you can't do it, I understand. I can send Sandy to some kind of dog hotel or something probably."

"I mean, you don't have to do _that_."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." Santana rolled her eyes. "I guess I could deal with Sandy for an extra day."

"Thank you so much Santana. I owe you."

"Yeah, yeah."

* * *

When Santana brought Sandy to the park that day, a lot of things were on her mind. How was she going to explain to Brittany that she wouldn't be taking Sandy to the park anymore? And if she couldn't explain it, would she ever see Brittany again? Or were they at the stage where she could already ask Brittany to hang out in a casual, not-trying-to-get-into-her-pants way?

Sandy, for his part, didn't seem to understand the gravity of the situation because he trotted happily along, not a worry in his mind. It hurt Santana's feelings a little bit that Sandy was so okay with returning to his owner and leaving Santana here all by herself. Again. She had thought they were buds. It just didn't happen to cross her mind that Sandy was a dog, with an EQ even lower than her own.

But for the moment, everything was fine as Brittany stepped into view, all blonde-haired and blue-eyed and slim-waisted. She sat next to Santana, who was already waiting on the bench, and flashed her a precious smile. "Hi."

"Hey." Santana smiled back at her. The complicated stuff could wait. "How are you?"

"Great. How about you?"

"Not too bad."

Brittany grinned. "Everything's 'not too bad' for you, huh? You never have a good day?"

"I mean…" Santana had nothing to say. No one had ever said that to her before. "I guess I don't have a lot of good days."

"Why not?" Brittany plucked a flower from the bush behind their bench and twirled it in her fingers. "I would imagine things go smoothly for a successful and attractive woman like yourself."

Santana smiled at the rather blatant compliment. "Yes, most things do go my way."

"But?" Brittany looked into Santana's eyes now, pensive.

"I'm not sure." Santana gazed down at her feet, puzzled herself. "I guess it just takes a lot for me to have a good day."

"Hm." Brittany reached over and brushed some of Santana's hair away from her face. "I wish you'd have more of them," she whispered as she slipped the flower behind Santana's ear.

Santana touched Brittany's hand, where it lingered at her temple. She smiled to herself. "I think I'm having one now," she said.

Brittany chuckled and left a quick peck on her temple. "Perfect."

It was weird. Santana was pretty sure they had just delved into super intense feelings discussion territory, and yet she felt as relaxed as ever. Brittany defied all she thought she knew about herself and women. "Brittany," she started to say before she could stop herself. "I'd like to take you out sometime."

"Ooh," Brittany gushed. "So you're asking me on a date."

"Um." Santana scratched nervously at her nose. "I guess I am."

Brittany turned serious, the playful smile no longer on her face. "I'd like to go out with you sometime, Santana."

"Great! When are you free?"

Brittany shrugged. "When are _you_ free?"

"Tonight," Santana answered abruptly. Somehow, planning something that wasn't in three hours seemed too far off. "I'm free tonight."

Brittany giggled at her eagerness but nodded. "Okay. Tonight."

And in her moment of happiness, Santana leaned in and kissed Brittany right on the lips.

* * *

"Quinnegan."

"Oh, my God, how many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that, Santana?"

"But it's your name."

"No, it's not."

"But I'm pretty sure Quinn's short for Quinnegan."

"But I'm pretty sure I know what my actual name is."

"Well, anyway, tell me, why are you calling me?"

"Just wanted to ask if you could keep Sandy until we meet up for lunch tomorrow?"

"Yeah, that's fine."

"Okay, good. You're being a surprisingly good friend."

Santana snorted. "I'm always a good friend."

"Um, no, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"And you're also surprisingly not bugging me about that date with Nicole."

"Is it that surprising?"

"_Yes_. What are you hiding, Santana?"

"I'm not hiding anything, you crazy."

"You're hiding something… Oh, my God, it's that girl, isn't it?"

Santana cleared her throat nervously. "What girl?"

"That girl you told me you met. That girl you _like_."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, God, it's her. That's why you're not asking about Nicole. That's why you're being so disgustingly pleasant. This explains everything. What's her name?"

"What?"

"The girl's name!"

"There's no girl, Quinn."

"Then why haven't you asked me about Nicole?"

"Because I'm not a psychopath like you are. But, fine, I'm asking about Nicole now. What do you have to say?"

"You have a date tomorrow night at eight."

"Oh."

"Uh huh. You're not even excited. _Santana_, have you slept with the girl already?"

"No! Quinn, please calm yourself." A salesperson came over and began explaining to Santana how "cute" the dress in her hands was. Santana lifted a finger and shooed her way.

"Are you _shopping_, Santana?"

"No."

"Yes, you are! Why are you shopping without me, bitch?"

"And why are you being so aggressive today, Quinn?"

"I'm always aggressive."

"True."

"Now tell me about the girl!"

"There's nothing to tell, and I'm going to hang up now before you combust of craziness, so goodbye Quinn. I'll see you tomorrow for lunch. Bye."

Santana put her phone away and shuddered. Quinn was too much sometimes, especially when Santana needed to hide things from her. And yes, she was hiding Brittany for as long as she could before Quinn and her craziness ruined what little chances she had with the girl.

* * *

At the sound of the nearing footsteps, Santana looked up from her phone and almost dropped it. "H-hi." Santana ran her eyes none too subtly up Brittany's formfitting dress and to her perfectly made-up face.

Brittany sat down opposite of Santana and grinned. "Hello to you, too," she said. "Did you wait long?"

"Oh, no."

"Okay, good, because I thought I was on time."

"You were," Santana assured her. "I just wanted to be early."

Brittany smiled at this. "You're such a cutie."

Santana laughed awkwardly in response. "Thank you."

"No problem." Brittany picked up the menu and looked at Santana. "Let's order."

* * *

"It's good, right?" Brittany gushed as she slipped her fork into Santana's mouth.

Santana chewed on the gnocchi and nodded. "Mmm," she hummed as she forced the tomato sauce down her throat. She hated tomato sauce.

"I'm glad you agree. Now we can share our food!" Brittany twirled her fork into some of Santana's pasta and took a bite herself. "Yours is good, too."

"This is one of my favorite restaurants," Santana told her.

"Yeah? I'm glad you picked this place."

"Me, too."

Brittany reached over the table and wiped the corner of Santana's mouth with her thumb. "You got a little something there," she murmured.

Santana blushed. Then blushed again about blushing the first time.

Brittany smiled, though. "So, Santana. You're oddly endearing and surprisingly dorky—but in a good way—for someone so beautiful. What's the catch?"

Santana looked down at her hands, not sure if those were compliments. "The catch is… Well, honestly, it's hard to believe, but I'm not normally this dorky."

"So what's so special about now?"

"You," Santana said with a smile.

Brittany looked away bashfully. Yep, Santana Lopez sure had game most of the time.


	5. Chapter 5

By the time their dessert came, Brittany had probably caught Santana staring at her boobs at least five times, and Santana was now studying her spoon with all her power to avoid being caught the sixth time. Brittany smiled, some amusement and curiosity in the gentle curve of her lip, as she watched Santana look at anything but her. "How's your tiramisu, Santana?"

"Great," Santana said, nodding enthusiastically at her plate. "And your gelato?"

"Pretty good, too." Brittany waited a beat before asking, "What are you looking at?"

With a weak smile, Santana looked up from her plate only to catch Brittany licking her strawberry ice cream off her spoon. _Fuck_. Her eyes widened slightly as she quickly averted her gaze.

Brittany laughed. "You wanna try some?" She held up her spoon, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

Santana bit her lip. Strawberry was probably her least favorite flavor of ice cream, but the idea of using the same spoon Brittany had just licked, the idea of Brittany _feeding_ her with that spoon made her nod.

So Brittany stretched across the table and brought it up to Santana's lips. She watched the way Santana's full lips dragged across her spoon, and she grinned. "Good?" she asked.

Santana shrugged. "Pretty good." She dabbed daintily at her lips with her napkin, smiling back at Brittany.

Brittany studied her for a moment, eyes narrowed slightly—not exactly in a suspicious manner but in a curious, interested way. Santana had a habit of answering most things half-heartedly, and it made Brittany wonder about her true feelings. "How's Sandy?" Brittany asked suddenly.

Santana gulped down her last bite of tiramisu and nodded several times. "Good," she said.

"Is he at home?"

"Yeah. Anyway—"

"Do you always just leave him at home when you're out?"

"Um, yes." Santana leaned her head to the side, surprised at the sudden interrogation.

"You're not worried he's going to mess up your place?"

"Well, no… I make sure to keep my shoes out of reach."

"Hm." Brittany nodded thoughtfully. "Did it take a lot of training to get Sandy used to being on his own?"

Santana thought about this for a moment. Knowing Quinn, she probably trained the shit out of her dog. "Uh, yes, quite a bit?"

Brittany dug into her gelato again, seemingly satisfied with Santana's answers. "Cool."

"Yeah, but let's stop talking about dogs now," Santana said.

"But you love dogs." Brittany raised an eyebrow as she said this.

"That is true…but, right now, I'm much more interested in you." Santana flashed Brittany that dangerously flirtatious smile, as if to confirm the double meaning behind her words.

Brittany squirmed in her seat.

Santana chuckled. Then her voice lowered when she asked, "Brittany, can I be honest with you for a second?"

"Of course." Brittany looked at Santana eagerly; she would love some honesty from the always-vague Santana.

"Work's been pretty busy lately, so I won't be able to walk Sandy at the park anymore." So much for honesty.

"Oh." Brittany frowned. Was this Santana's way to get her out of her life?

"But I'd really like to spend some more time with you."

"Oh?" Now Brittany was confused.

"So can we make sure that happens?" Santana asked almost shyly, her previous confidence having disappeared completely.

"Yeah," Brittany replied, "I'd like to hang out with you more as well."

"Cool." Santana grinned at her.

"Um…" Brittany played nervously with her hair.

"What?"

"How about tomorrow?" Brittany blurted.

"Tomorrow?"

Brittany nodded.

"I'd like that," Santana said. Then she frowned as that date Quinn had set up came to mind. "But I think I might be busy with…something."

The excitement drained from Brittany's face, but she tried to wave it off. "Oh, that's no problem."

Santana pursed her lips. She didn't like seeing Brittany disappointed—by her, no less. "How about this," she said. "The day after tomorrow. I'll take you somewhere, and it'll be a surprise."

Brittany's eyes lit up.

Grinning, Santana asked, "You like surprises, don't you?"

"I do!" Brittany exclaimed, clasping her hands together. "How'd you know?"

_Because I hate surprises_. "Just a hunch," Santana explained with a shrug.

"Do _you_ like surprises?" Brittany asked.

Santana carefully contemplated her answer. "Sure," she said at last. She wanted Brittany to know her as the spontaneous, charming Santana, not angry, boring Santana who hated surprises.

"But how would you know where to take me?"

"Well, I guessed that you like surprises, didn't I?"

Brittany grinned. The confidence in Santana's tone was very alluring. "Alright, then, let's see what you come up with."

Santana winked at Brittany before swiftly pulling out her credit card and handing it to their waiter.

Brittany blinked several times, having never seen someone pay without even looking at the bill. But she would be lying if she didn't say she was impressed. "You could have at least given me the chance to offer to pay, you know," she said.

"I asked you out, Brittany. The least I can do is pay."

"Are you telling me you don't enjoy the obligatory awkward fight over the bill?"

Santana laughed. "I actually don't, but I might enjoy an awkward fight over the bill if it's with you."

"Yeah?" Brittany grinned.

"Yeah."

"Well, let's be fair about this. Since you paid this time, I'll pay the next time we go out."

"Hmm, I'll have to think about that."

"Santana…"

The waiter returned with Santana's card and her receipt. Santana scribbled some numbers down quickly—no doubt a hefty tip—and signed. Then she looked up at Brittany and gestured toward the exit. "Ready to head out?"

"Yep." She stood up and walked alongside Santana as the waiters nodded their thanks. People seemed to sense Santana's importance everywhere she went. But that was understandable. Santana was evidently beautiful, yet in an elegantly understated way, and she exuded a confidence not matched by many. Brittany wondered how she became one of the few to have seen Santana's dorky side.

Once they were outside, Santana glanced between Brittany and the cabs speeding by them. "Do you need a cab?" she asked.

"I kind of want to walk, actually," Brittany said. "You like walking, right? I remember you told me you like nature and stuff."

"Oh…right."

"Don't you live around here? Let me walk you home."

"No, no, you don't have to do that, Brittany."

"But I want to."

Santana furrowed her brows, still unsure.

"It's on my way home anyway," Brittany said.

"Okay, then."

As they slowly walked along, Santana supposed nature wasn't so bad after all. At least there was a light breeze that night that felt oddly refreshing against her skin.

"So, Santana," Brittany started, interrupting her thoughts, "you never agreed to let me pay for our next date."

Santana smiled to herself. It was nice hearing Brittany say "date." "You'll have to convince me," she said playfully.

"How about…because I want to?"

Santana pretended to think about it. "Nah," she said at last.

"You're making this really hard, Santana. How about because I'll feel bad if you're always paying?"

"Hmm, nope."

"What if I say I'm not going on this date with you unless I get to pay?" She grinned coyly at Santana.

"Okay, okay, fine." Then Santana smirked. "Maybe."

"Santana!"

"What? I can't help it; I just like treating you like a princess."

Brittany ducked her head, blushing at the comment. God, why was Santana so perfect? Too perfect almost. She liked everything Brittany liked, from nature to street performers and even Brittany's oftentimes eccentric taste in food. It was uncanny, now that she thought about it.

Santana peered at Brittany's hidden face. Then she stopped walking altogether and reached over to softly hold Brittany's chin between her thumb and forefinger.

Brittany glanced at Santana through her eyelashes, her cheeks still tinged pink. Her suspicions quickly died away as Santana looked at her like that, all deep brown eyes and the slightest crease between her eyebrows.

Santana smiled gently at her. "You're adorable."

Brittany looked away, feeling her cheeks get warmer still.

"Can I kiss you?" Santana asked quietly.

Brittany met Santana's eyes again, and she nodded.

Slowly, Santana pulled Brittany toward her and delicately pressed their lips together.

* * *

"Well, this is me." Santana glanced between Brittany and the doorman, who already had his hand on the door handle, ready to let her in.

Brittany peered up at the building and nodded. "Nice building."

Santana laughed politely. "Yeah."

Brittany shuffled on her feet.

"Um, Brittany, would you…"

"Yes?"

Santana looked down at the ground. She shook her head once and smiled at Brittany again. "I just wanted you to know that I had a really great time."

"Me, too."

After a moment, Santana leaned in and kissed Brittany at the corner of her mouth. "Good night, Brittany."

"Good night, Santana." Brittany watched Santana enter her building, throwing her one last glance over her shoulder before disappearing from view. As Brittany turned to leave, she realized that she had a smile on her face. She really did quite enjoy Santana's company, and this surprise date had her already on the edge of her seat.

* * *

Santana waited for the elevator with a satisfied grin. It was always nice to spend time with Brittany. The date had gone smoothly, and Santana seemed to have impressed Brittany what with her charm and her promise of a surprise and… Fuck. How the hell did she know what to surprise Brittany with? She wasn't good at this…thing, planning surprise dates and taking walks at night and talking about dogs. She wasn't good at any of it.

But there was something about Brittany that had her always coming back for more. And so surprise date it was.

* * *

"Quinn, do you like surprises?"

"No."

"What would be a good surprise, Quinn?"

"Not being surprised."

"Seriously, Quinn, you're young and spontaneous, right?"

Quinn finally looked up from her salad. "Do I fucking look spontaneous to you?" she asked with a hard glare.

Santana frowned. "No. But I was thinking…something outdoorsy. Things that happen outside always seem much more exciting."

"Jesus, Santana. I don't know what's gotten into you, but can you be mean and angry again? I don't know what to do with all this…enthusiasm."

At this point, Santana placed her fork down as well. "Um, Quinn, can I talk to you about something?"

"Yeah?"

"This date tonight... I'm not sure I want to go."

"What?" Quinn looked to be struggling between being angry and shocked. "Seriously, Santana? After nagging me for months about Nicole, and now you're not sure?"

"I know, I know. I just…" Santana shrugged. "I don't see it going anywhere, you know?"

Quinn narrowed her eyes.

"What?" Santana asked.

"Don't act all innocent. The only reason you took care of Sandy was because you wanted to go on this date." Quinn crossed her arms over her chest. "And you know what changed in these past couple of days?"

"What?" Santana asked nervously.

"The _girl_."

"God, Quinn."

"I knew this day would come. You're finally falling for someone."

"I'm not _falling_ for anyone."

"Keep lying to yourself."

"I-I'm not!"

"Well, anyway, if you're gonna be too busy making love faces at your new girlfriend, let me know so I can cancel your date."

Santana flinched. "Please don't say the G word."

"Girlfriend."

"Ugh, God."

"Girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend—"

"How _old_ are you, Quinn?" Santana asked incredulously.

Quinn paused, as if just registering her immaturity. Then she shrugged and returned to her food. "So…do you want me to cancel the date for your _girlfriend_?" She whispered the last word.

"Just eat, you bitch," Santana ordered. "And…I guess not. I mean, it's just a date."

"It's up to you." Quinn looked at her seriously now. "It seems like this girl means a lot to you."

"I like her," Santana confessed in a moment of honesty. Then her defensive walls immediately resurfaced again. "But it's not like I'm gonna marry her or something," she added hastily.

"Whatever you say."

* * *

As she applied her mascara, Santana sighed heavily. She gazed into the mirror, at herself all dressed and made up. Well, first of all, she looked awesome. But she felt unsettled and perhaps just the slightest bit guilty. It wasn't as if she was doing anything _wrong_. She was only going on a date. It's not like she had any obligations to anyone else.

But Brittany. She couldn't get rid of the feeling that she was wronging Brittany somehow. The truth was, she didn't even know what this thing was that she had with Brittany. But it wasn't anything exclusive, that she knew. So, logically, she was free to go on as many dates as she wanted with as many women as she wanted, but still. Either way, Santana really wasn't the type to cancel, and it was pretty late to cancel now.

She finished putting on her makeup, and, with one final look in the mirror, Santana decided she was more than presentable. Instinctively, she went to her closet, where she had hidden all her shoes, to find an appropriate pair for her date. It was only when she was rifling through the pile that she realized she didn't need to keep her shoes hidden in the closet anymore. Sandy wasn't going to be around to mess her shoes up, and that thought was surprisingly disheartening.

Santana pushed these sappy emotions away and strutted out of her room. Whatever. She could deal with living without Sandy. She _liked_ the peace and quiet, she told herself. She threw everything she needed into her purse and made her way to the door. Then, her hand paused on the doorknob. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the bowl of water she had set out for Sandy. And maybe it was because she was in a hurry, or maybe it was something else, but Santana quickly left her apartment, letting the bowl stay exactly where it was.

* * *

Nicole was still beautiful, tanned, and brunette. She was still Australian and certainly had not lost her accent. But something about her changed.

Or perhaps something about Santana changed. Santana decided it was the latter. She knew very well herself that she only liked what she couldn't have, and maybe having Nicole so readily available here, right across the table from her, was too close to something she could have for her to feel those weird forces of attraction anymore. Still, she smiled politely as Nicole continued recounting her days as a semi-professional surfer.

"But, well, that was a long time ago," Nicole finally finished with a laugh.

She had a nice laugh, Santana had to give her that. And she did quite enjoy listening to her speak. "I'd probably be a horrible surfer," Santana admitted.

"I'm sure you would be fine, Santana."

Santana grinned; she couldn't help but notice the admittedly attractive way Nicole pronounced the a's in her name.

"So how long have you been friends with Quinn?" Nicole asked.

Santana let out a breath. "Like, way too long. Since college, really."

"Wow. And how have we not been properly introduced until now?"

"You know," Santana said, "I have no idea."

"Well, I'm glad Quinn set this thing up. You're quite a character, Santana."

"Oh?" Santana raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure that's a compliment."

"Trust me, it is."

"Well, you're quite something yourself."


	6. Chapter 6

Santana smiled as she waited for Brittany with Sandy in tow. She had "borrowed" Sandy, giving Quinn not much of a reason except that she was a better dog owner anyway, to which Quinn rolled her eyes. Quinn hadn't been questioning Santana much lately anyway.

Brittany lived in a cute East Village apartment, with old stone steps out front and small windows that went up three stories. Santana bent her neck back and looked through each window. She stopped when she found Brittany's. Brittany was dashing back and forth through her apartment, only half-dressed and holding an eyeliner pencil in her hands. Santana grinned.

She had surprised Brittany all right. Earlier this morning, she called to tell Brittany to bring her dog on the date. Brittany seemed surprised and asked why she needed to bring her dog, but Santana insisted it was a surprise, and now here she was, having the best wait of her life.

When Brittany tripped over something and proceeded to let out words even Santana found obscene, Santana chuckled and shook her head. In a few minutes, Brittany pushed through the door and ran down the steps, dragging Sally behind her. "I'm sorry I'm late!"

Santana reached out to hold Brittany's arm as she stumbled down the last step. "It's no problem. We still have time."

"OK, good. It just always takes longer than I expect to get ready."

"Well," Santana said, running her eyes over Brittany with a nod, "you did a good job."

Brittany grinned. "You think?"

"Yes." Santana offered Brittany the rose she had in her hand. "And this is for you."

Brittany blushed. "Thank you, Santana."

Santana tipped her head in acknowledgment. Then she offered her arm, Brittany hooked her own arm through it, and they left.

* * *

In all honesty, Santana had thought doga sounded cute and special and was probably one of the most brilliant date ideas she had come up with. Who else did yoga with their dogs on their dates? Who else even _knew_ doga existed?

Well, maybe there was a reason people didn't do doga on their dates. While Brittany was elegantly bending her back into unnatural shapes with Sally doing equally appalling exercises next to her, Santana struggled pathetically with Sandy. Why couldn't Sandy be awesome like Sally? Why did Sandy have no flexibility at all? At least if he did, he'd hide Santana's ineptness at this whole yoga business. Good thing they were at the back.

So Santana stretched and sweat and cursed as Brittany performed one exercise after another with ease. Brittany glanced at her and frowned. "You okay, Santana?"

"Yeah," Santana managed to say, "I'm good."

"We can leave, you know."

"No, no, this is great."

"Santana…"

"Britt, chill out—" And then she heard a crack.

Brittany spun around and stared at Santana as Santana stared back. They were both silent as they processed what had just occurred.

"Fuck," Santana muttered.

Brittany snapped out of her daze and rushed over to Santana. "Are you okay?" she asked.

Santana stared down at her foot without even moving her head. "Um, no? I'm pretty sure I broke something."

Brittany glanced at Santana's foot. "Let's just…calm down. It could be something less serious than that, right? Right?"

"I really don't know, Britt, but we should probably get out of here."

"You're right." Brittany looped Santana's arm over her shoulders and began helping Santana over to the exit. "We've paid and everything, right?"

"Yeah." Santana winced as she dragged her bad foot along.

"OK, good. Let's just get you to the doctor for now. You'll be OK, Santana."

"I hope so."

* * *

"It's just a sprain."

"Oh, thank God." Santana released the breath she had been holding and dropped her head in relief. She had beautiful legs. She couldn't deal with having one of them broken.

The doctor smiled curiously at Santana. "Well, I'm just going to wrap up your ankle and then you're good to go. This is the kind of thing you just have to wait out."

"Thank you, doctor," Brittany said.

Santana glanced at Brittany, grinning at the idea of Brittany thanking _her_ doctor for her.

When Brittany caught Santana's eyes, she tried to smile back but could only muster a worried look. "No more doga, Santana."

Santana frowned. "But I just wanted to find something new and fun for us to do."

"And it was fun, but not anymore."

"But I thought—

"I just don't want to see you hurt, OK?"

Santana gulped. "OK."

* * *

Of course Brittany would be able to make Santana feel more vulnerable and cared for than she had been for years with just a few words. Santana couldn't decide if she liked it. It was the scariest thing and perhaps the best thing.

Her new immobility certainly didn't help the situation as she lay in her bed, watching Brittany carefully wrap a towel around an ice pack to place it over Santana' swollen ankle. It…unsettled her to see Brittany _care_. It made her fidgety and her palms wet, and she had never been so restless.

"Britt," she managed to say, "it's OK. Just leave it there."

"Oh," Brittany said, startled. She shifted back and smiled at Santana uneasily.

Santana hadn't meant to offend her. "Brittany," she started softly, "I didn't mean it that way."

"No, no, it's fine," Brittany assured it. "I know I can be too fussy sometimes."

"Thanks for, um, taking care of me."

"It's no problem."

"I guess I'll be stuck in bed for a while, huh?"

"Just for a day or two. I sprain my ankle all the time when I dance."

"Ah, yes, Brittany the dancer. How could I forget?" Santana grinned.

Brittany rolled her eyes. "Well, in the meantime, do you want me to get you something? Food?"

"Um…"

"Ice cream?"

Santana's eyes lit up.

"You like strawberry, right?" Brittany asked with a giggle.

"Uh…" Santana tried to remember when she _ever_ mentioned liking strawberry ice cream, but, of course, their dinner date with the strawberry gelato. "Yes," Santana answered hesitantly.

"Great. I'll be back in a few minutes, OK?"

"OK."

Brittany nodded at Santana and bounced out the door.

Santana sighed. Brittany was perfect…except she was buying her strawberry ice cream and probably liked her (if she even liked Santana at all) for her caring, pet-lover side, which did not even exist, and this entire situation was just a big fucking mess.

* * *

"Where the fuck are you, Santana? You were supposed to be here like two hours ago with my dog."

"Stop freaking out, OK?" Santana hissed. Brittany had gotten back five minutes ago and was scooping out some ice cream for her in the kitchen.

"You can't just not show up to things."

"I sprained my ankle, Quinn. What do you want from me? I'm stuck in bed right now, alright?"

"What? What happened?"

"Ugh, I don't even want to talk about it. Something about yoga…and stuff."

"_Yoga?_ What the hell, Santana? Are you, like, vegan now, too?"

"Shut up, Quinn. And I gotta go. Sandy will be taken care of, don't worry."

"Wait, San. Are you OK, though? Do you need me to come over?"

"No, no, I'm fine. Thanks."

"You sure? 'Cause if you're stuck in bed, I can bring you food or something."

"Yeah, I'm fine—" Santana jerked the phone away from her ear as Brittany entered the room, with two spoons and, she quickly noticed, just one bowl in her hands.

"Were you on the phone, Santana?"

"Um, yes."

"Alright," Brittany said with a laugh, "don't mind me."

Santana pursed her lips and carefully brought the phone back to her ear. For some reason, Quinn felt like a dirty secret she needed to hide. Maybe it was because Quinn reflected Santana too accurately, both dark and damaged and, in simple terms, bitches.

"Santana? Hello? Whose voice was that?"

Santana cleared her throat. "My friend, Brittany."

"Brittany? Who's Brittany?"

"My _friend_," Santana said again. She smiled sweetly at Brittany.

"You've never mentioned a Brittany."

"We met recently." Santana watched Brittany start eating the ice cream, and damn was it distracting. Brittany really took full advantage of her tongue.

"Oh. _Oh_. You mean _the girl_."

"OK! Gotta go, Quinn. Talk to you soon."

"Wait—"

"Mmhmm, mmhmm." She nodded, her eyes still fixated on Brittany, and now Brittany stared back at her, still licking from her spoon.

"Santana, I swear—"

"Yep, it was nice to talk to you, too. Buh-bye."

And she hung up.

"Brittany…" she started in a low voice.

"Mmhmm?"

"You're eating all the ice cream."

"I know. Sorry. I got distracted."

"Come over here."

Brittany trudged over to the bed, cradling the bowl still, and Santana grabbed her arm, pulling her down. She leaned up and pressed her lips to Brittany's, kissing her long and deep, and then she slid her tongue against Brittany's cold one, and, just as Brittany moaned, Santana pulled back. As much as Santana hated strawberry ice cream, it was delicious.

"S-Santana," Brittany whispered, her breath hitting Santana's lips not two inches away.

"Yes, Brittany?" Santana grinned, her eyes still lowered to Brittany's icy pink lips.

"The ice cream's gonna spill."

Santana looked down, just realizing that she had tilted the bowl up a little too much between their bodies when she had pulled Brittany toward her. "Oh!" Santana fell back against the bed and blushed from embarrassment.

"Um." Brittany set the bowl on Santana's bedside table and scooted onto the bed.

"Uh, yeah?" Santana was avoiding eye contact.

Then Brittany bent down and kissed her and kissed her, as if their ice cream wasn't melting away completely, as if their dogs weren't staring at them in curiosity, as if nothing else was happening but them.

Santana slid her hands up Brittany's arms, all the way to her neck, and let her fingers wiggle into the roots of Brittany's soft hair. She moaned into the kiss.

Then Brittany pressed even harder into her as she swung one leg over Santana's body to straddle her.

Brittany whimpered, and that made Santana sit up straighter, running her hands down Brittany's sides and slip just slightly up her shirt.

Santana felt Brittany quiver under her hands, so she hugged her closer just as Brittany rocked against her, and they both shuddered at the contact. All these days of sexual tension had built up to now, to something way hotter than either of them had anticipated. Santana decided to test her luck; with the shirt laced between her fingers, she trailed her hands up Brittany's body, finally revealing Brittany's purple lace bra. The view did not disappoint. She pulled back for a second to tug the shirt off Brittany before resuming the kissing and the gentle rocking of their hips.

When Brittany sighed, Santana went weak; the sound made her bones soft and her heart pound, pound, pound. But she broke out of her trance when she felt something wet nudging her arm, and it was _not_ the wet she wanted to feel. She snapped her eyes toward the intrusion, even as she continued kissing Brittany, and of fucking course it was Sandy deciding to interrupt their sexy time. Sandy was both what brought them together and the biggest cockblock at the same time.

Santana clumsily pushed Sandy away before giving her attention back to the kiss, but Sandy was back before she knew it, and her struggle with Sandy finally distracted Brittany from the kiss. "What's wrong, Santana?" Brittany panted against her mouth.

"N-nothing," Santana whispered back, in a voice low and breathy and sexier than Santana would ever realize. "Sandy's just bugging me."

"Oh." Brittany tucked her hair behind her ears and glanced at Sandy, bashful, as if they had just been caught.

"It's OK, Britt, just ignore him," Santana said, reaching up for Brittany's face.

But Brittany shifted back and shook her head. "No, we shouldn't do this in front of Sandy. He's probably judging us—"

"Who cares what Sandy thinks?" Santana kissed Brittany again, as Brittany tried to speak against her lips.

"He's probably thinking that we barely know each other," she mumbled, "and we're doing _this_—"

Santana nudged Brittany off her and scooted off the bed, trying to hop around on her good leg. "Sandy," she said in a warning tone, "out."

But Sandy continued to stare at her, unblinking.

Santana limped over to the door of her room and gestured toward the living room. "C'mon, boy. Out."

Sandy ignored her.

Santana heaved a sigh and stumbled over to Sandy, now trying to physically remove Sandy from the room. But Sandy slipped away from her hands time and again, and it was extra frustrating to deal with Sandy when Santana was turned on beyond belief and handicapped.

"Santana, it's OK," Brittany said quietly. She was on the bed, with her knees tucked up against her chest, looking smaller than ever.

Santana nudged Sandy once more, and when Sandy didn't respond, gave Brittany a helpless shrug. Santana slowly made her way over to the bed and pulled the blanket up to Brittany's knees. She stood next to the bed for a while and smiled at Brittany. "Please don't feel weird about this," she said.

"I don't—"

"Brittany, you look like your dog just died."

Brittany's eyes widened, and Santana quickly amended her words. "I mean, figuratively speaking."

She bent down, picked Brittany's shirt up from the ground, and handed it back to the girl.

"Thanks." Brittany put her shirt back on and pursed her lips. "Sorry," she said suddenly.

"For what?"

"For leaving you hanging."

Santana chuckled and sat next to Brittany on the bed. "Oh, it's alright. Not the first time it's happened."

"Really?" Brittany seemed surprised. "I can't imagine someone _not_ jumping into bed with you."

"Trust me, I wish."

Brittany gave her a lopsided grin, finding some humor in the situation but feeling uncomfortable at the same time about the idea of Santana bedding a many a woman before her.

"Hey, you OK?"

"Uh huh."

"Look, Britt, you don't have to feel bad about this. If anything, it's Sandy's fault." Even the words felt foreign as they came out of Santana's mouth, having never comforted someone for _not_ sleeping with her. But, strangely enough, she thought she might like the feel and the weight of the words on her tongue. "And I'm kind of glad it didn't happen," Santana added.

"What?" Brittany was confused and offended.

"I mean, you're _really_ fucking hot, Britt—don't get me wrong. And I'm all sorts of horny right now, but, you know, this could be good. I guess what I'm saying is this could be a lot more now that we haven't jumped right into bed with each other. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah, it does."

"Good. And, besides, I like cuddling just as much."

"Really?" Brittany grinned and snuggled into Santana's shoulder.

"No, not really," Santana admitted before she even realized it, but it felt refreshing to just tell the truth outright, even when it might not be the most charming thing to say.

"Oh."

She pecked Brittany's forehead. "But you seem to be an excellent cuddler so far," she said with a smirk.

"Thanks. You're one of the best I've had as well."

Santana's laugh echoed in the room. "Well, _thank you_, Brittany.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I know I've been MIA for a while, but I'm usually on my tumblr if you need me. Until next time!


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